


drowning (but at least we go together)

by fujimaru



Category: Persona 4, Persona Series
Genre: (canonical though), Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-01-19 13:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12411150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fujimaru/pseuds/fujimaru
Summary: Licking the underside of tape will unstick it from your lips; it's a while, though, before Adachi realises blood on skin does just the same.





	1. Chapter 1

Sweat condenses on the outside of the cans, dripping down and leaving wet rings on the lacquered wood. Adachi watches carefully, half-closing one eye to keep the room from spinning out from under him. “Hey,” Dojima slurs, resting his own can back on the bare table, “use a coaster.”

Adachi smiles and ignores the request. 

There is a steadily growing pile of trash between them, their knees rubbing each other, the feeling muted through their work slacks and the alcohol buzzing between them. If he was alone, Adachi would’ve pulled his pants off already, but he isn’t and Dojima’s legs would put his own to shame, so he deals with the canvas folds of the fabric digging into the soft underside of his limbs. It’s fine. He’s put up with worse. None of this matters, anyway.

Sound emanates from the tv behind them, weaving in and out as the two men crack idle jokes neither of them pay attention to. It’s simple, and it’s easy, and Adachi likes the sound of Dojima’s laugh, the pitch deep enough to resonate through him. So much different than the shrill voice of the announcer coming through the speakers, so much so that Adachi considers grabbing the remote and muting it right there. Annoying.

Dojima finishes up a story that the both of them had been there for (there was no point in telling work stories, really, but the two of them did it anyway). Adachi can feel himself swaying back and forth. He cracks the seal on another drink, scrambling to pour the foam running up over the lip into his mouth before it spills on the tatami beneath them. He’s successful, relatively, and quickly mops up the excess with the bottom of his sock while Dojima chuckles into his own drink. “Nice one.”

Adachi peels the wet fabric from his foot and tosses it towards the door, the sock landing painfully far from the entryway and eliciting another round of laughter from the man beside him. He gently shoves Dojima’s shoulder, Dojima shoves back, the touch raises the hair on his arms and everyone gets poetic when they’re drunk, he thinks, this is nothing special. He should stop drinking, he thinks, but Dojima is the only thing in this shithole town worth a damn. He smells like old coffee and cheap beer and cigarettes when Adachi sways into him, and it should disgust him but it doesn’t. He wonders briefly what he smells like.

“Not really like anything,” Dojima responds, “but not in a bad way. You’re just kinda normal.”

Whether or not Adachi’s let any of his other thoughts slip is ignored as Dojima reaches up to press the side of his can against Adachi’s cheek. He didn’t realize how flushed he is and he can feel the chill of the liquid inside, the condensation left behind heating up and seemingly burning off his skin. “Huh, maybe I should get some cologne or something.”

“Maybe. Nanako’s good at that kinda stuff, she could come shopping with us.”

Adachi laughs. “Oh yeah, you told me she likes going to Junes, right? We could make an day of it.”

Dojima’s age shows when he smiles, how the corners of his eyes wrinkle, how Adachi can see the grey starting to seep into the stubble under his chin. “Yeah,” he agrees, “the next day we all have off.” There’s a small thump from the next room over and Dojima chuckles. “Does that sound good, Nanako?”

The girl slides the door open and pokes her head out, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “Mm-hmm,” she smiles, “I wanna go to Junes with Dad and Adachi-san!”

“C’mere, you.” Nanako patters over and Dojima pulls her onto his lap, kissing the top of her head. “What are you still doing up? It’s past your bedtime.”

“I was asleep! You two were being loud and woke me up.” As if to prove her point, Nanako let out a yawn.

“Okay, okay. Forgive me.” 

Adachi watches as Dojima rubs his stubble on Nanako’s cheek, the girl shrieking with laughter as he continues to tickle her. Adachi likes Nanako well enough, never being too fond of kids but she was more mature than most, much more so than the rest of the kids he has to deal with day to day. He takes another sip of his beer. Probably just a product of circumstance, but it wasn’t such a bad thing. Surely, he couldn’t complain.

“Ah, sh— shoot,” Dojima grumbles, squinting into the squashed pack of cigarettes, shaking it fruitlessly. He hoists Nanako up from his lap and stumbles to his feet, a hand on her shoulder not so much to steady her as to steady himself. “Guess I gotta go run down to the store. Nanako, you want anything?” The girl shakes her head. “Adachi?”

“Nah,” Adachi says, leaning back against the couch. “I’m good.”

Dojima shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back.” He turns to walk out the door, shoulder thumping against the doorframe as he fumbles the door open and stumbles out into the street, leaving Adachi and Nanako alone. 

He doesn’t know how to talk to the girl and she obviously doesn’t know how to talk to him either. She sits down across the table and stacks a few of the cans up to clear some space. She’s still tired, almost nodding off as she watches the TV and pointedly ignores Adachi’s presence. He ignores her too, thumbing the volume up and resting an arm on the seat of the couch. It’s easier to be alone — he thinks that she feels the same way.

The last sip of his beer catches the edge of the can and rings metallic against Adachi’s tongue and he’s almost asleep himself; he would be heading back if Dojima was home and able to watch over the girl. He can’t in good conscience leave her here alone, falling asleep amidst garbage waiting on her dad to come back. He knows the kind of monsters that walk the streets, he knows what kind of person she could all too easily become. Maybe that’s why he spends so much time here. 

Adachi shakes his head. He needs another drink. 

“Nanako,” he starts, waiting until she blinks out of her trance and turns to face him before continuing, “where does your daddy keep the beer?”

“In the fridge. Here, I’ll get one for you.” She hops up and pulls the fridge door open with a small grunt. Adachi can hear her shuffling the contents around in her search and feels a little bad for asking, but it was she who volunteered and besides, he doesn’t want to mess anything up. He absentmindedly flicks the pull tab of an empty can back and forth until the metal splits and digs into the side of his index finger. He hardly feels it.

“Uh oh,” Nanako calls over her shoulder, voice muffled by the insulation of the fridge, “this is the last one.”

“It’s fine, I’ll text Dojima to get more.” Adachi grabs his jacket, digging through the pockets and finally grabbing hold of his phone. He fumbles out the message with one hand; the cut on the other is bleeding only slightly but he sticks the finger in his mouth anyway, trying to suck out the pooling blood and clot the wound quicker.

Nanako hovers over Adachi’s shoulder. “...Are you hurt?”

“Oh, this? No no, it’s just a little cut.”

“That’s not good. You’ve gotta take care of it now or it’s gonna hurt more later. I’ll get you a bandaid.”

“Thanks.” Adachi smiles weakly.

The first aid kit is nothing more than a couple plasters and a small, half used roll of gauze stuffed into an old tin with, inexplicably, a photo inside as well. Nanako plucks one of the bandaids out and tears the wrapping open with her teeth. “Here,” she says, gesturing to his hand, which he gladly provides. She sticks the bandage to one side of the finger, pulling it taut and wrapping it around to the other side. It's snug but not too tight and Adachi can tell that the adhesive is partially stuck to the wound and that pulling it off later on is going to hurt, but Nanako looks so proud of herself holding onto his hand that he can't correct her. “There you go! It’s all better now.”

It might just be the glue holding his skin together but it does feel better, the light sting he was beginning to feel gone, his finger only throbbing dully now. Nanako’s hands are so small, her grip so gentle that he’s able to shake it off quickly and pick up the photo instead. Nanako and Dojima, both looking slightly younger beam back at him, another woman laughing as she wraps her arms around the girl. Huh. “Is this your mom?”

“Yeah,” Nanako says, taking the picture. “Dad says that I’m starting to look more like her.” 

Adachi can see the resemblance, absolutely, but if he was asked he would say that Nanako looked closer to her dad, her jaw, her ears, her nose showing the familial connection. He reaches a hand over and ruffles her hair. “You’re gonna be beautiful when you grow up.” 

“You think so? Mom really was pretty, wasn’t she.”

Adachi doesn’t want to look at the picture any more than he has to. “Yeah. She was.”

Nanako suddenly jumps up. “Oh! I know where Dad put the rest of them! Hold on, I’ll go get them,” and before Adachi is able to register what’s happening and stop the girl, she’s already up the stairs, banging around like a demolition crew. Maybe she’s got a future in construction, Adachi thinks, and he would be laughing if he was able to pinpoint exactly why he feels like he needs to throw up. 

Dust bunnies cling to Nanako’s hair and the hem of her pajamas as she reemerges, plunking a box down in the middle of the table. “Here! I think there are more somewhere, but this is enough for now.”

“Oh, good job! Let’s take a look,” Adachi says, pulling the top off the box and grabbing a glossy stack of paper. They’re all fairly benign, the kind of garbage one would be bombarded with by their girlfriend’s parents in an attempt to “embarrass” her on the fifth or sixth time over to their place. A sadistic initiation ritual, the mark being accepted into their family. Dojima’s not here to get embarrassed, however, and Nanako’s too young to be doing this maliciously, so there’s no reason for him to be getting worked up about the whole mess. It’s just annoying, more than anything. He sighs and flips through the stack of photos. Most of the pictures are of Nanako, her mom and Dojima scattered throughout. Birthdays, holidays, everyone growing younger as he digs further down into the box. Nanako’s the most noticeable, but still Dojima’s wrinkles disappear, the look in his eyes is softer, his smile more genuine. A few pictures fall from Adachi’s grasp and land beneath the table. He blames it on the alcohol.

Neither Adachi nor Nanako are spending much time on any one photo, all too aware that Dojima could be home at any moment and that he hid the box for a reason, probably not thinking that his partner and daughter would be rifling through it behind his back. “Oh! I remember this one! It’s from Dad’s birthday!” Nanako tosses a picture to Adachi and returns to dig through the box. Dojima’s wearing a party hat in the photo, Nanako grinning on his lap. A cake sits on the table in front of them (the same table that they’re sitting at now, Adachi notices) and the light from the candles dances off their eyes. 

“Very nice,” Adachi lies.

“There’s some with Mom in them too.”

Adachi catches another small stack and quickly flips through them, trying not to pay too much attention to the young couple. Nanako is arm deep in the box, rooting around and continuing to make small stacks as she goes. Pre-school, baby pictures, vacations, all carefully catalogued and stuffed away in a closet. It’s almost like watching a show, Adachi thinks, like the Dojima he knows is the actor at the end of the play, changing back into his street clothes, wiping the makeup from his face. The disconnect between then and how he knows him now is shocking. 

There’s an envelope in the bottom, the corners yellowing with age, and Adachi tips the paper to let the photos fall out onto the table. They’re wedding pictures, he quickly realizes, and from the fading of the ink, it looks as though they had been framed before, probably displayed in the same room he was sitting with Nanako in. 

He’s no amateur, Adachi thinks, he drinks arguably more than he should and he knows it, but sitting here is giving him the spins like he’s young again and if he could move he’d make a dash to the backyard, either to clear his mind or empty his stomach, he’s not sure yet, but the point is moot seeing as he can’t muster the energy to move and even if he could his limbs are too rubbery to stand. Photo Dojima is giving his wife a look that Adachi has never seen him make before. He chokes back a gag. No, that’s a lie. He’s seen traces of it here and there, he’s been partnered with the man for a few months now, he’s had time to observe him and it’s one of the only things that can make the job bearable sometimes, but there’s an innocence that’s been wiped from the man. It’s never there for more than a second or so, but it interests Adachi more than anything else. Nanako rests her forearms on his shoulder to peer at the pictures, the touch shocking him out of his introspection like a splash of ice water. He hadn’t even realized that she had gotten up.

The two were quiet for a minute, Adachi’s throat dry, not quite knowing what to say. Nanako looked nothing short of lonely, and though her touch was piercing on Adachi’s back he didn’t ask her to move. Instead, he forces a smile. “Uh, this is a lot more traditional than I thought it would be. Your dad doesn’t really seem like the kinda guy to go for this sort of wedding.”

Nanako reached over and brushes the picture with her hand. “Yeah, Dad told me that Mom was the one who did most of the planning. He said she was a very elegant woman.” That’s not a fact Adachi can argue. She looks like a musician, a cellist if he were to judge from appearance, a pianist if he was going to take Dojima’s music choices into account, the man’s seniority automatically giving him control of the radio when they were on patrol. His jaw is tight. Nanako continues. “I wanna have a wedding someday, one just like Mom’s.”

“I think you’ve got a while to wait. Dojima’s gotta make sure you find a good guy before he’s gonna hand you over.”

Nanako smiled. “Yeah, but Dad knows a bad guy when he sees one! I trust him. How about you — do you wanna get married?”

Never. “Maybe someday,” Adachi says, “but I’ve got to make sure I’m getting a good wife.”

“I think you’re a good guy.” She’s young, and she can’t see how twisted his heart has become, and he has to forgive her. “I’m sure you’ll find someone. Maybe Dad can check them out too!”

Adachi’s toenails are clawing into the tatami below the table where Nanako can’t see, trying to ground himself with something other than the girl’s words. “Hmm, but I’m not too fond of weddings.” He can feel the keratin threatening to snap. “How about this, I’ll make sure to go to yours instead!”

That seems to satiate Nanako. “Alright! It’s a deal.” She holds out a pinky and Adachi loops his finger with hers, the two of them shaking as the pact is sealed. The pictures are laying on the table now and Nanako rifles through them, pulling out one Adachi presumes is Nanako’s mom with her own parents, posed carefully and beaming at the photographer. She sighs. “I wish I could’ve been there too.”

“You weren’t born yet, silly.”

“Were you?” 

How old does the girl think he is? There was a date on the envelope and math was never his strong suit, but — “I was sixteen,” Adachi states, “I was still in high school at the time. I didn’t really think about marriage then.” 

It’s bitter, twisting his guts, acknowledging that the same time he spent pissing away in school, Dojima was off getting hitched, happier than Adachi had ever been able to see him. It hurts, but he can’t say that he doesn’t know why. He just wants to ignore it, is all. Since when was that a crime? Nanako might be able to tell something’s up; she’s passing a glass of water to him and he’s unsure exactly how much time has passed since they last spoke out loud. He’s too caught up in his head, too focused on imagining the past to pay any attention at all to the present.

He wonders what else he’s missed in Dojima’s life.

Footsteps crunch the gravel outside and Nanako’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. She looks just like her dad and it almost brings Adachi to smile. “Go go.” He waves her into the next room. “Pretend you’re asleep. I’ll deal with him.”

The front door swings open. Adachi wonders if Dojima ever thinks about what his past must be like. It’s not very interesting, but he’d share. “I’m home,” the man grunts.

Adachi’s sprawled out on the floor, the photos thrown back into the box haphazardly, trying his best not to look guilty. “Ah, welcome back.”

“Thanks. I got your text, so I—” Dojima stops as he sees Adachi’s sheepish smile. His eyes narrow. He rests the plastic bag down on the table and taps the box with a toe. “Nanako?” Adachi shrugs and he sighs.

“Don’t blame her.”

“No, no, it’s fine. They’re her pictures too, she has as much right as I do to look at them.”

Dojima’s face is scrunched up and Adachi feels stupidly guilty. Even though he knows that he would’ve found out sooner or later, that maybe it’s like pulling off a bandaid, that maybe this is what’s needed to fix what’s rotting inside him, that none of this matters anyway, he can only take so much and he needs to leave. He needs to leave _now_.

“Wait,” Dojima says, and Adachi wonders how much he’s said out loud. He’s somehow standing now and Dojima’s sitting down with his back to the window, waving a bottle at Adachi. “Don’t let this go to waste.”

Dojima was already in his teens when Adachi was born. Adachi takes the drink. Might as well, while he still can. “Thanks.” 

Blood falls on lacquered wood. 

“What happened to your finger?”

Adachi looks down at his hand. Half-moon imprints are dug into his palms, slowly fading purple. The cut from before seems to have opened somehow wider and soaked the padding of the bandage, robbing the adhesive of any sticking power. It’s slowly dripping and Adachi licks the excess blood off. “I’m not really sure.”

“Well, get a tissue or something. You gotta take care of it now or it’ll be a problem later.”

“Yes, sir.”

There’s a roll of paper towels in the kitchen and Adachi grabs one, wrapping it tightly around his finger. He can’t see any tape and finishes the wrap by tucking the corners under. It’s fine, it’ll hold for now. He isn’t planning on staying too much longer.

Dojima’s looking at the photos that Adachi dropped under the table when he sits back down. “It’s funny, I haven’t really taken any pictures since… well, you know.”

Adachi takes a sip of his beer. “I don’t take too many photos either.”

“Yeah, well, you’re just you. Nanako’s growing up so fast, I should at least have some.”

“Aren’t we going to Junes? We should take some pictures while we’re there. Make an outing of it.”

Neither of them mention the implication, but all the same Dojima smiles. “We should.”

Adachi can see the grey seeping in beneath Dojima’s chin when he smiles, so much different than the Dojima in the photos. He wonders how much he will change in the future. The TV’s off by now, Nanako’s at least feigning sleep in her room, and the two have run out of conversation topics. Adachi considers telling him about his past as an exchange, as some sort of apology for reading through Dojima’s life. He decides against it.

Still, maybe he’s drinking slower than before on purpose, and maybe Dojima can tell. Dojima scoots his knee back over to rub against Adachi’s. The silence rings through the room. He knows they’re just biding their time until the rusted metal of their bonds finally snaps and the two can fade into nothingness. But Dojima’s eyes are grey, he notices. He feels the world spin out beneath him at the realization. They’re warm and comforting and calm as a cloudy sky and soon, the rest of his hair will be colored to match. 

Adachi thinks that maybe, just maybe he could stay a little longer.

“Yeah,” Dojima agrees, “as long as you like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pro tip: write a pairing fic where one half of the pairing just, isn't there for 3/4 of the damn thing. Trust me.
> 
> I went to a wedding and it was a miserable experience but it spawned this so I guess it was worth it in the end. Big shouts to my man David for being my fan through this whole thing, and everyone on twitter for letting me yell endlessly into the void. You're the real MVPs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's three weeks later and Adachi's still plucking fibers from his wounds.

“Why don’t you tell her anything about her mom?” 

It’s three weeks later and he’s trapped next to Dojima as they drive out to the edge of town, something about a wellness check for someone’s elderly mother, someone who can’t be assed to make the trip on their own. There’s a bad taste in his mouth and Dojima’s driving churning his stomach isn’t making the feeling any better.

He cracks a window.

“That’s not any of your business.”

“Isn’t it, though? You’re supposed to be my _partner_ and all.”

Dojima made a comment on their first ride, when he parked the car on the bank of the river and sat on the hood, flicking his lighter open. “I won’t smoke in there,” he said, “I don’t want it to bother you.”

“I don’t really mind,” Adachi remembers himself saying; the smell doesn’t bother him as much as it probably should and it’s strange to consider that someone would care enough about his opinions to change their habits, but their stops and subsequent talks eventually became routine enough to expect them and as he watches Dojima’s hands tighten on the steering wheel he instinctively begins to scan for a shoulder to pull over on.

“Let’s talk about this outside,” says Dojima, predictably.

There’s a bend in the road up ahead.

“Sure.”

The old lady lives on a side road up the mountain, just close enough to barely be within their precinct. They’re far enough along already for the road to turn to smooth-worn concrete and gravel that crunches softly beneath Adachi’s step, threatening to tear holes in the worn soles. Dojima sits down on the hood, the metal creaking softly beneath the weight. He pats the space next to him. Adachi ignores the gesture and leans against the guard rail instead, his back to the drop of the cliff, drawing lines in the rocks and dirt with the tip of his already scuffed shoe.

Dojima shrugs. “Suit yourself. It’s pretty nice out, isn’t it?”

It’s not too hot and the leaves above them are cutting just enough light for the breeze to be comfortably chilly and strong enough for Dojima to have to hold a hand up to cover the flame of his lighter lest it blow out. “It is,” Adachi nods, “but that’s not really what we stopped for.”

“Hmm.”

Maybe his agreement was a little premature, Adachi thinks as a gust blows past and sends an unwelcome jolt up his arm. He sighs and crosses his arms, pulling the flaps of his jacket a little tighter around his frame. “It’s obvious that Nanako wants to know about her mom. It’s only natural, don’t you think?”

“I don’t want her to get upset.” Neither of them are looking at each other, but Adachi can hear the sour in Dojima’s voice.

“You know, when she brought the box down, the tape was already loose.”

“I--”

“But I suppose you’d know that already if you looked at it at all yourself. You’re gone all the time and Nanako’s got nothing better to do, there’s no way that she wouldn’t find her way in there. Why don’t you just tell her?”

It’s been a while since he’s lain into someone like this. Dojima’s responding laugh is dry. “So that’s how they train them in the city.”

“They made us take a course in interrogation,” Adachi jests, his tone light and cutting through the tension. “I’ve learned how to tell when someone’s lying to me."

“It’s really not so much a lie as it is an omission.”

He chuckles. “Are _you_ trying to piss me off?”

“Hmm, maybe you should play the bad cop next time. Seems like you might have a knack for it.” Adachi can feel Dojima’s eyes on him as the other man takes a drag. “...How’s your finger?”

The cut has already fused together, not quite healed but almost there. It was a fairly clean slice but the wound was just deep enough and in just the right place for the skin to heal slightly offset, the grooves of his fingerprint not quite lining up correctly and leaving a line drawn across the flesh. He’s wondered briefly before if it would fade with time or if the mark was going to stick with him… but he supposes that’s not what Dojima’s really asking, is it. “Fine,” Adachi responds after a moment’s thought, the breeze rustling his already-mussed hair. “I don’t have to keep it covered anymore. 

“That’s good. Nanako felt bad about it the next day.”

“Really? It’s not her fault at all.”

Dojima laughs. “You know how kids are, they just tend to blow things out of proportion. It rains and you can’t go to the park, suddenly it’s the end of the world. Someone gets hurt, and it’s all your fault..” Adachi feels an urge to point out the irony in the statement, but before he can open his mouth, Dojima’s speaking again. “She was going to pick Nanako up when it happened, you know. It was an excuse, but in my defense she was still young and sometimes painful memories are better forgotten.”

“Yeah.”

Dojima flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette. From where they’re resting, Adachi can easily see the city, but the noise doesn’t manage to reach up the face of the cliff and he’s surrounded only by the rustling of the leaves and Dojima’s quiet shifting on the hood of the car. It’s a kind of not-quite-quiet he hasn’t experienced in a while (not like the buzzing silence in his apartment that he can almost still hear ringing in his ears) and Adachi can feel the muscles in his shoulders begin to soften. “Nice day,” Dojima states again.

“Sure is.”

The breeze dances up the back of Adachi’s jacket. 

“Did you love her?”

“I did. 

“...Like your wife?”

Dojima doesn’t answer. Adachi doesn’t quite know why he decided to ask, but he won’t mention the omission -- it’s not a surprise. Dojima’s guilt feels different than others he’s had to witness, different than the husbands he’s had to inform before. It’s an intuition he’s heard giggled about in high school hallways and that became quite handy in training, especially in the city where private lives run vast and deep. He misses the secrets. Maybe that’s why he’s okay with spending so much time with the man lounging on the squad car hood. “Adachi, that’s your second one in a row. It’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Is that how this works?”

Dojima shrugs and taps the top of his cigarette. “You pry into my life, I get to pry a little bit into yours. We are _partners_ and all, aren’t we?”

Adachi hums. “I suppose you’re right.” 

“Why’d you get sent out here?” Adachi’s grip tightens on the guard rail. Discomfort must be showing on his face because Dojima backs off, waving the question off. “Sorry. If that’s too much, you don’t have to answer. We can take it slow.”

“No, it’s just…” Adachi’s brow is twisting into knots and he rubs the tension out with two fingers. “Like you said, there are some things that are better left in the past.”

“Maybe we’re all just kids.”

“Maybe.” 

“Nanako’s getting to that age where she’s starting to ask questions that I don’t have answers to.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s tough, you know, trying to explain this job to her. I don’t want to scare her, but I don’t want to keep her in the dark either.” Dojima takes a final drag and flicks the butt off to the side, leaning back up against the window. “I just want to be able to protect her.”

Adachi keeps a lighter in the inside pocket of his jacket, only a few ounces heavy but all the same the weight seems to pull on his neck as he watches Dojima shift around, trying to get comfortable. He ignores it. “What time did you say that we’d be there?”

“Fuck,” Dojima spits as he glances at his watch, “we should probably get going.”

The ride up the rest of the hill is quiet and getting tenser as the numbers on the dashboard click higher. “It’s just up there,” Dojima mutters, gesturing vaguely into the trees. Adachi nods as if he’s familiar with the winding roads. “Son said that she’s in her late 70’s. He lives a bit further up north but he’s on a trip for work at the moment and said that she hasn’t called him in a while.”

“Her husband?”

“Passed away a few years back.”

“Hmm,” Adachi hums, and turns to stare out the window. Nothing much he can say to that, he supposes.

The house is modest but traditional, all tan wood and angles, age showing with the moss creeping across the roof tiles. Dojima raps a quick one-two-three against the doorframe and the partners wait patiently for an answer. “You ever done one of these before?”

“Once,” Adachi replies, though that was just a half-truth; it was only an exercise the academy put him through. It wasn’t technically part of his responsibilities, just part of the base training they all were required to take before specializing.

Dojima catches onto the trepidation in the words and nods. “I’ll be here for you. Ma’am,” he called, voice louder and directed straight through the door in a tone Adachi knew would penetrate the insulation, “we’re here on behalf of your son.”

They can hear a soft thump, the sound controlled enough to not be worrying, before the door is pulled open with shaking fingers. The woman’s not much smaller than Adachi, her frame just as slender but hunched and gnarled with age, her white hair pulled back in a loose ponytail that half the strands have managed to escape from. “What has he done?” She asks, her eyes sharp but expecting.

“I-- no,” Adachi stumbles, obviously thrown by the question, “he hasn’t done anything.”

“He asked us to come check on you,” Dojima steps in. “He hasn’t heard from you in a few weeks and wanted to make sure that you were doing alright. Is everything okay? Any problems at home?”

The woman looks quizzically at the cops and shakes her head slowly, more hair breaking free from the elastic and trailing gently against her shoulders. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

Dojima gives her a relieved smile. “I’m glad to hear.”

“I--” the woman starts, before pausing to collect her words. “My son, he called you?”

Dojima nods. “I was the one who took the call.”

“I… wasn’t aware that he was paying attention.”

“Sorry?”

She raises a work-worn finger to tuck some of the escaped hair back behind her ear. “No, it’s just that, well, I haven’t had the time to give him a call for a couple weeks now. He’s busy and I just leave a message, you see, but I wasn’t aware that he was getting them.”

“Well, if you want him to visit, I could always tell him that he better swing by.”

The woman chuckles. “Kids. You have a little girl, don’t you? They’re funny, aren’t they.”

“She’s turning seven this fall.” Dojima’s smile is proud.

“Bless her heart. That’s such a good age.”

“She’s wonderful. But kids... you know, they’re born to worry. I’ll let him know you’re doing fine, just as long as you promise to give him a call later. You sure gave him a scare. I think he might be able to clear some time in his schedule for you.”

“Of course.” The woman beams a smile at each of the men. “Thank you, officers. Can I get you anything to drink before you leave?”

Adachi snaps back to attention as he’s addressed, but Dojima responds before he has the chance to say anything. “No, we should be heading back to town. Thank you so much for your time.”

The woman bows and the two men return the favor, each walking their separate ways. Adachi can hear the door click shut behind them and as soon as they’re out of earshot, Dojima sighs. “Well, I guess that’s that. Glad we didn’t have to call an ambulance, huh?”

“Yeah,” Adachi smiles, the emotion not quite reaching his eyes. “Hey, do you mind if I hang back for a minute? You can go start the car.”

He knows Dojima won’t press him and as expected, the man keeps walking. “Take your time. They aren’t expecting us back for at least another hour.” They both know it’s an exaggeration but just the same, nothing would be happening when they got back. Whether their visit took twenty minutes or two hours wouldn’t make any difference.

The road to the house is filled with twists and turns, paved to twine through the trees that tower above him and Adachi waits for Dojima’s back to melt into the foliage before he leans against the closest trunk and carefully pulls his phone from his pocket, snapping it open. He thumbs through a list of contacts and briefly considers clearing them out; it’s mostly old coworkers and he’s only got a couple numbers he needs in the directory, but deleting them all sounds like more trouble than it’s worth. As long as he’s still able to find everything he needs (and he does, quicker than he thought he would be able to) it’s not something he’s going to devote his time to. He hits enter and brings the speaker to his ear, sharp ring cut short by a voice.

“We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been dis--”

Adachi snaps the phone shut. Not his fault, he reminds himself; enough time has passed that he’s left only with a lack of any emotion, just a residual emptiness. There’s probably a new number by now, he thinks, and though he could use the tools at his disposal to track it down easier than people might want the police to be able to do, what good would that do for him? It’s so quiet in the woods that he can hear his breathing and the lack of purring from the engine as he approaches where they parked. Dojima’s leaning against the driver’s door, smiling sheepishly around a cigarette.

“Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Adachi lies, “just had to check on something.”

Dojima pats the space next to him on the hood. Adachi ignores the gesture, choosing instead to rest his back against a tree across from the other man. “Suit yourself,” Dojima shrugs. “If you want to stay here for a little while and take a break, we can. There aren’t really too many people who live out this far.”

“I can’t really imagine why people would,” Adachi states. He’s dragging lines through the gravel with the tip of his shoe, only serving to wear the already-scuffed leather down further. 

“It’s not that,” Dojima chuckles. “I mean, sure there’s occasionally someone who’ll move out here alone, but -- no, I want to know, why do you think that people move here?”

“To get away from everyone, I guess.”

“To be closer.” Dojima pats the hood next to him once more; Adachi pauses for a moment but accepts the offer, crossing the gap between them to sit beside the other man as he blows smoke into the air surrounding them. “When you’re all the way out here, you don’t really have anything else to do besides spend time with each other. That’s just what happens -- you grow up, find someone, move in together, have kids, be a family. Simple.”

The smoke curls and twists into nothingness. Adachi doesn’t want to bring up his childhood. It’s not special, nothing worth mentioning. Scabs turn back to skin with time. “It’s my turn.”

“So it is.”

“Did you always know that you wanted kids?”

“Yes." 

It makes sense, in a strange way. It’s not something Adachi’s used to; the people he’s met who’ve said they knew they wanted kids have been few and far between, much more of a reactionary statement than anything, but he can sense the sincerity in Dojima’s words. “You could be a better father.”

“I could,” Dojima chuckles. “I guess we’re all selfish.”

“I guess so.” The breeze dances through the trees, Adachi’s words catching and blowing off the mountain to the town below. He could ask a favor, he thinks, he could try and change things for Nanako himself; it’s a better time than any but the words are caught in his throat and he shivers reflexively, from the thought more than anything, but he leans into the warmth from the arm Dojima wraps around his waist all the same.

“You ready to head back into town?” Dojima presses the words to Adachi’s jaw between kisses.

Adachi didn’t ever want kids, for the record.

“When does school get out?”

“About half an hour.”

Maybe it’s not something that he has to clarify, but he feels the need to do so just the same.

“Let’s pick Nanako up on our way back.”

“Sure,” Dojima smiles, “let’s do that." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give you a guess as to who Adachi's trying to call. Happy belated Mother's Day. 
> 
> I wasn't going to make this more than a one shot but that's just how it is on this bitch of an earth. Apparently I only ever upload shit when I'm with/recovering from being with family. That's Adachi babe! Honestly Adachi and his views on relationships make it interesting to write fic based on his perspective because I can't quite imagine him fully believing that he's "with" someone. Will I add more to this? I don't know. But it was fun to write all the same.


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